In Time
by Lanku
Summary: Tom Riddle has always had a thirst for knowledge. It's that thirst among other things that leads him to Harry. But once that thirst is quenched, what will he do with knowledge gained? AU  TRHP
1. And So

**In Time**

**By:** Lanku Black

* * *

**Summary: **Tom Riddle has always had a thirst for knowledge. It's that thirst- among other things- that leads him to Harry. And once that thirst is quenched, what will he do with knowledge gained? (TRHP)

* * *

**And So... (Prologue)**

_ Lectori Salutem - __Greetings to the reader_

**  
**

It was the end of his third year when Tom Riddle came up with the idea. He'd been reading a particularly interesting book in the Forbidden section of the school library when he turned the page to a small section dedicated to time- or more accurately 'The Manipulation of Time.' It was a novel idea, something he'd never even thought possible. As he started to think of the possibilities, he read:

M_anipulating the very fabric of time and space is quite a difficult task in and of itself. It requires concentration and power of proportions almost impossible to come by in the average wizard. It is a complicated process, and unlike a Seer, one that posses the power to observe the past and possible futures, one who manipulates time has the power to physically change both the past and future. Be forewarned; many great wizards have attempted to fiddle with time at disastrous cost to themselves._

The passage itself was very vague, but it had piqued the young Slytherin's interest. Already his mind had set to work wondering exactly how he could time travel with less stress on his magic and where he could find books with actual spells or rituals of wizards that had "attempted" to do such a thing. Tom took out his journal, the one he always carried on his person, and turned to the back to a page that had already been written on. On the very top of the page he had written, in very neat script, 'Things to do Before Becoming Voldemort.' Under that he had listed only four things: Study Dark Arts, Gain Support and Followers, Become Immortal, and Kill Father and Grandparents. Under those, he wrote 'Find a way to time travel.'

And so the thought was born.

* * *

It was Christmas Break of his fifth year before Tom made any progress with anything on his list. He'd spent most of his break exploring Wizarding London- not just Hogsmeade, either. It was on a trip to the deeper recesses of Knockturn Alley that he came across a small bookstore. At first, he hadn't even given the place a second glance- he'd been focused on searching for a place to buy suitable potions ingredients for an experiment. 

This was a moment, although Tom didn't know it yet, where things began to change and the future- never set in stone- began to look a little less bleak. Tom didn't walk past the bookstore. In fact, he turned around so sharply towards it that he almost fell over as he became unbalanced. He'd felt, for just a moment, his own magic within the store. He wasn't sure if other wizards could feel and distinguish magic and ability, but it was something he had always been able to do.

He couldn't stop himself from walking into the store, drawn to the familiar chill of his magic. It was even smaller inside the store than it seemed, dusty and encrusted with grime. He heard a sharp intake of breath and turned quickly- tightening his fingers around his wand under his robes- to the shopkeeper. His face was heavily obscured by the tall collar of his robes and the wizard's hat he wore. The only things Tom could see of him were deathly pale hands and dull, silver eyes.

Recovering from his momentary paranoia, Tom shuffled further into the store, staring uncertainly at the row of books where the flash of magic originated from. He couldn't recall where the flash came from specifically, but his eyes were drawn to a black, tattered book that stuck out like a sore thumb among the more extravagant selections. He pulled it out and frowned immediately. The book was mutilated- a hole pierced into its face- and furthermore, it looked as if it was the same book thats weight he felt against his leg.

That was impossible though and the thought quickly left his mind. After all, it was not as if his diary was a particularly unique item. Even as he said this to himself, however, the part of him that was slowly seeping into insanity, the part that was destined to take him over as he became Voldemort, told him that someone was toying with him. For the moment, though, Tom was in control and it was Tom that brought the book over to the store owner and paid 2 galleons, 3 sickles and 10 knuts.

He left quickly, and so failed to see the how the store owner grinned, revealing too long teeth that glimmered in the faded light as he stepped over the body of the real, late shopkeeper. And because Tom did not look back, he missed sight of the other taking something out of his robes and putting it around his neck, turning the trinket quickly before disappearing.

Settling down in his room, the young wizard was able to more carefully examine the book. He flipped though the pages lazily, though he was interested. Even with the hole through the pages, he could tell it was about Horcruxes. He'd heard of the before, in fact they were, according to his research the closest one could come to being immortal. It was really just a general overview, though it had spells he hadn't thought of using in conjunction with the Horcrux itself and so was not completely useless.

"_Though making a Horcrux is dangerous and deadly to other, less-powerful wizards, the process is made much simpler in its nature. To make a Horcrux is to bind part of yourself to an object. It requires no maintenance once created and..."_

The following words had been pierced through, but they gave Tom an idea that might have skipped his mind were it not for his muggle upbringing. _A time-machine! If the magic of time-travel is too complex on it's own, why not forge the magic into an object? Something light and easy to carry that won't be easily lost. There would also need to be a way to limit the amount of people_...

And so the idea led to the method.

* * *

Tom sat down heavily on his bed, glad that classes were finished for the day. It was only the beginning of school and already he was tired of Dumbledore's accusatory stares. Not that he didn't have reason to stare, after all Tom had gotten that great oaf Hagrid expelled last year over the Chamber incidents and no doubt Dumbledore had heard about the murders of his filthy muggle father and grandparents. And now... Tom had no idea what had possessed him to ask Slughorn about Horcruxes, but it had been interesting information... 

He sighed if he was going to create a Horcrux, he knew he'd have to do it quickly, before his soul mended itself together again. He'd already decided that he would make it tonight. Of course, there as that other thing... Tom frowned, fishing out a necklace from his pocket. H stared at the pendant- an hourglass surrounded by three thin rings, the innermost designated time with the runes for year, day and hour. The middle ring had the rune for location inscribed but no locations specified just as the last, with the rune for person had no names. He'd already put several spells on it for protection and to ensure it worked properly as a whole, but he hadn't yet tried to apply the time manipulation spell.

He'd wait to do it after his magic recovered from the Dark Arts he'd be performing tonight, he decided ans with that made his way to the seventh floor. Once in the Room of Requirements, Tom took out his diary and took a look at the last page again. He could cross out everything soon, he knew, a thought that excited him to no ends. Putting the diary on the floor in the empty space the Room had created for him, he knelt down with his hands of either side of it. The hardest thing about the spell, he was sure, was that not many could sense magic as well as he did which ended in them botching it up. But as he closed his eyes, he saw his soul clearly, still bright and clear but black around the edges, were they'd bee torn.

He forced a torn piece and grabbed it mentally, forcing shaking hands to grasp the book as e channeled part of his soul into the book, murmuring a spell quietly to quicken the process. He almost stopped at the wave of pain that went through him, but despite his body's protests he kept on until the fragment touched the diary, almost curiously and recognized it. He gave a sigh of relief when the soul fragment left him completely, the pain ending as if it had never been there to begin with until he spoke the words to bind the soul and book together. No pain could compare to it- he physically lost a part of himself and it seemed as if the loss would tear him apart from the inside out. The pain quickly became too much to bear and Tom lost consciousness.

He woke up still in the Room of Requirements, but in a bed unlike before. The Room had provided him with things he hadn't asked for before, so he didn't question this, only accepted it as one of the quirks of the home he lived in. He was sore but not uncomfortably so, which made him wonder if the castle had also fed him some sort of healing or restorative potion as well. Finally, he wondered what time it was and got up to see a grandfather clock that had not been there before proclaiming that it was well inti the afternoon, grabbing his newly made Horcrux along the way out.

He ran directly into a seventh year- McGonagall, he recalled, one of Dumbledore's lackeys- and frowned, grabbing up his diary and raising an eyebrow at her. She flushed and looked away, mumbling something about getting lost. He knew that Dumbledore would be even more paranoid around him than before, but really, sending a Gryffindor to be subtle? But in any case, he could not let her report anything to Dumbledore, ad he knew the perfect way to do it, too.

Walking right back into the Room of Requirements, Tom set about making preparations for another feat of magic- time manipulation.

And so the Magic was spun.

And so the Time-Turner was created.

And so the future was changed.

* * *

** A/N:** Reviews wanted... please? And also, I'd like to whine- why is it always Harry that gets to time travel? Which is why I made this. About this chapter... I was trying to be vague- small snapshots and the like- ... but I think that failed for most of it... and also sorry for any mistakes. 


	2. Everything For A Reason

**In Time**

**By:** Lanku Black

* * *

**Summary: **Tom Riddle has always had a thirst for knowledge. It's that thirst- among other things- that leads him to Harry. And once that thirst is quenched, what will he do with knowledge gained? (TRHP)

* * *

**Everything For A Reason (Chapter One)**

_Castigat ridendo mores - One corrects customs by laughing at them._

About an hour later, it was finished. Tom stared at the trinket, knowing he'd done everything correctly, at least by his calculations, but still hesitant to test it on himself. Really, though, he didn't trust anyone else enough to test it for him so he was stuck either way. Tom smirked at himself and shook his head, throwing caution to the wind and putting the chain around his neck.

Making sure it was on the right way, Tom reached for the tiny handle but ended up frowning in confusion. The pointer he'd set to hours just a moment ago was on years. "That's... odd," he said to himself, fingers twitching as they moved to fix the pointer when the time-turner did something unexpected. It started turning. It moved much too quickly for Tom to regain his wits and stop it, though even if he had tried, it would've been futile.

So Tom found himself launched into- it must be the future, he reasoned to himself. He saw flashes of the Room- Dumbledore opening the door to a bunch of chamber pots, several people that ended up throwing something into a room crowded with a bunch of junk, a girl falling into a pile of books, then darkness. And when the world suddenly stopped spinning out of control, Tom was finally able to see that he definitely wasn't in the Room of Requirement anymore. In fact, he doubted he was in Hogwarts at all.

He heard two voices close by, muffled only slightly by the door and was surprised to realize that he recognized the first person as Dumbledore. He didn't like the fact that the only thing separating him from someone who knew him in the past, but he didn't see what he could do about it. For one thing he had no idea what year it was nor could he see to work the time-turner.

Instead of wasting his time worrying about it- not that it wasn't on his mind-, he turned he tuned back in to the conversation at hand. Apparently the other two had heard his entrance into wherever he was because the voice he hadn't been able to recognize asked, "My... Headmaster, did you hear that? Why that's most certainly an omen of bad luck." Tom wasn't too surprised by the man's new title, but it didn't stop him from frowning when he heard it.

Dumbledore had trouble getting the woman to focus again after that, as she'd decided that the 'omen' was a sign that she should teach at Hogwarts. Tom was sure that Dumbledore had decided he'd had enough and was trying to, as gently as possible, tell the omen he wouldn't hire her in a million years when her tirade was suddenly cut off. Tom had just about convinced himself that Dumbledore had murdered the woman when a ghastly voice spoke:

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives . the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies .'_

The logical part of Tom treated the words- he'd never heard one evoked before, but he knew it was a prophecy- as nothing more than information. He dissected the words in his mind, already finding loopholes and speculating whether the Dark Lord of this time was still Grindelwald or if someone else had risen to power.

The part of him that was completely ignoring all trains of logical thought, however, made his heart beat faster and his blood run cold. Even though there was no way he, as he was in his present, could have any connection to this, he had the weirdest feeling. Something in the air had changed.

Soon the woman regained her senses, and apologized for having apparently nodded off on Dumbledore. Tom nearly snorted when Dumbledore went along with what she seemed to believe instead of telling her what had really happened and hired the Seer when before he was about to tell her she wasn't right for the position.

Chairs scraped against the floor as Dumbledore went off on some nonsensical tangent that Tom had already blocked out even before his attention was diverted to his chest where the time-turner was turning by itself again. The last thing he heard before he was flung into time was Dumbledore's sharp intake of breath as he exclaimed, "Severus?!"

When Tom was back in his time, he was monumentally displeased. It seemed his little invention had worked as it properly should, but not as he'd intended it. There were only two possible explanations: he'd performed the magic incorrectly in his rush, or someone had tampered with it. The latter, being decidedly impossible made Tom want to kick something. Instead he settled for taking the time-turner off and winding his arm back to throw-

A hand much paler than his own grasped his wrist and prevented the movement. Tom tried to jerk his hand away ineffectively, turning to face his captor. The man's eyes were boring into him, gold eyes glinting creepily. Tom frowned, letting his mask slip into confusion as his thoughts raced. How the bloody hell had the man gotten into the Room of Requirement? Why was he looking at him like that? As if he'd... why did he look so familiar? He'd seen those eyes before, but he couldn't figure out, for the life of him, where.

"Did you see it?" The man asked, looking as if he already knew the answer. Trying to get himself in control, Tom opened his mouth to tell him that he had not clue what he was talking about, but the hand tightened around his wrist. "The prophecy... _your_ future. Did you see?"

And Tom was thrown for another loop. His future? What did the Dark Lord have anything to do with him? No one in his family had ever defied the Dark Lord (before he'd killed them all) and besides that, his birthday wasn't in July. So if he wasn't the "one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord," then...

"I'm not the future Dark Lord!" he growled out, unable to keep himself under control at all, even as his mind screamed for him to keep his calm down. In any case, his words weren't entirely true. He did seek power, and he wanted to take control, and to do that he'd probably have to start a war. A war in which he would be looked upon as, not the hero, but the Dark Lord.

"Oh? Killing masses of innocent Muggles and spewing propaganda about 'Mudbloods and Blood Traitors' all the while obsessively trying to eliminate a boy in a prophecy that you don't even know completely all seems pretty dark to me." The words were harsh but they were said with no emotion whatsoever.

Tom was completely at a loss for words. He would be the first to admit to not being the nicest or most innocent person there was, but he certainly saw nothing to be gained by the pointless killing of Muggles and he had nothing against 'Blood Traitors' or Muggleborns.

Nothing he hoped to gain by taking of the ministry was like that- he'd found, upon entering the Wizarding World, the prejudice and hatred people purely despicable; an already oppressed people like wizards spreading more hate by refusing others- werewolves, vampires, goblins, and so many more- their rights as beings of sound mind, instead treating them as dangerous creatures. And when he'd realized it was something not only widely accepted but enforced by the Ministry he'd known something had to be done, in a not necessarily legal manner if it came to that.

Not that he mentioned any of this out loud. Instead he asked the other, "Who are you?"

"No one of importance to you... as of yet, anyway," the other replied after a moment, pulling out the same time- turner Tom currently had in his hand.

"I gave that to you?" Tom asked, understanding that the other was from the future he'd just seen. He doubted, however, that he'd give anyone something that they could so grossly misuse like the man was doing now.

"No, I doubt you even remember making this. I found it in a box of things you decided against making Horcruxes out of."

The mention of Horcruxes caused Tom pause, taking the man more seriously as a sliver of fear caused his heart to sped up. The other's eyes immediately drifted away from Tom's, his words ceasing as if he'd lost his train of thought. "You're staring at my neck," Tom muttered obviously after several moments, as if he thought the other hadn't realized where his gaze had fallen.

The man only grinned, his eye's snapping back to look into Tom's blue ones.

"If you won't tell me who you are, at least tell me why you're here. I take it that it's not because of me?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong. It's most certainly because of you that I'm here. However, I'm going behind your back to do this."

Tom's frown turned into a glare at having his question so easily deflected.. "Why?"

"Purely selfish reasons, I assure you. I don't care about who wins this silly wizarding war, I just want you to be this you in the future."

He let go of Tom's wrist and sighed, the smile slipping somewhat. And when Tom looked up again from rubbing his wrist, the blonde was holding up his time-turner and speaking as it was adjusted and turned.

"Because as the world is now, Tom riddle is dead and Voldemort is too fractured, too insane and dead inside to be considered human."

Then he was gone.

Tom slammed the door to his room shut, eyes narrowed into slits. There were two people inside already, probably looking for his help with a subject or a student, but they jumped up and stared at him as he huffed over to his bed, unused to seeing their normally calm and collected prefect storming around.

They glanced at each other and immediately tried to run out of the room. A boy with honey-brown hair made it first- unsurprisingly since he'd been messing with Tom's school books on a desk close to the door- and ran out the door, shutting it quickly, and firing a locking spell on it.

The other, black-haired boy growled, and Tom could tell without looking up from his pillow that it was Orion Black that had been stuck with him. Tom ignored him though, burying his face into the pillow and trying to figure out just... what exactly had happened.

He hated not being sure of the truth, not knowing the answer especially when it concerned himself. And this future, his future, could not be true! That man, he had to be lying. Really, he hadn't given any real proof, just some prophecy that could have been about anyone! And anyway, who was stupid enough to go out and attempt to prevent a prophecy? Had wizards never heard of Oedipus? Macbeth?

Prophecies are _always_ self-fulfilling! The more you try to change it, the closer to completing it you get. Tom wondered what his future self did when he'd found out about the prophecy, then promptly berated himself for acting as if he'd believed that pack of lies. It was just... the man had looked so...- sad?- that Tom couldn't believe he was lying. Not that looks could not be-

"So... um, Tom, what's wrong?"

Sighing, said boy rolled over to face his fellow Slytherin. "It's nothing, just Dumbledore again. You'd think the old fool would get tired of accusing me of all the misdeeds in Hogwarts." It was true, to an extent. He'd ended up walking out of the Room and straight into Dumbledore who had decided that it was just about time for them to have a 'talk'.

"Oh, never accuse," Black laughed from where he was on the floor next to the bed, glad it wasn't anything truly serious. "Dumbledog merely has talks with his students, all the while trying to cop a feel."

"The male ones anyway," Tom snorted, perfectly able to imagine Dumbledore feeling someone up.

"Yes, of course. And the way his eyes twinkle... no, that man's just not normal. It's just too bad that Dippet can't see all that and fire him."

"I haven't heard any explosions and nothing's broken, so can I assume it's safe to enter?" The brunette asked, sticking his head through a crack in the door.

"Malfoy, you dunderhead! When have you ever known Tom to blow up?"

Shrugging, Abraxas Malfoy moved further into the room."If I'm not mistaken, you were running as well."

Black sniffed, attempting to maintain his dignity. "Well, I decided to stay and talk with him about his problems, did I not?"

"Only after you realized I locked you in."

Malfoy laughed at the other boy, climbing into the overlarge bed behind Tom. Tom said nothing about the invasion of his privacy and neither asked him where he'd been. He was glad for the normalcy of it. And when, moments later, Black got up and stretched, acting as if he were about to leave, Tom was more than happy to give him the invitation the boy had been waiting for. The three of them settled into the bed with more than enough room to avoid touching each other, but instead of staying up to make sure Malfoy didn't invade his space as he often did, Tom found himself drifting off.

Despite his better judgment, his common sense, and the fact that Dumbledore had caught him leaving the Room, Tom found himself staring at the door to the Room of Requirements when he was supposed to be in Transfiguration a week later.

He'd finally stopped denying that night's events, knowing that there was too much evidence to deny most of it. Two time-turners in a time where he'd only made one, the name he'd chosen and revealed to no one, and- though it wasn't really evidence, those eyes that looked much too sad for the amount of years the man had lived. That didn't mean he'd trusted everything the man said of course, simply that he couldn't deny it all.

He opened the door, surprised that it had even appeared without him thinking about what it was he needed from it. That is, until he walked inside and saw the same man as the night before smiling over at him from a chair. _Those eyes...!_ Tome felt like an idiot when he finally remembered where he'd seen those eyes before. "The shop-keeper?" he asked, sitting across from the other.

"Well, it's nice of you to remember, nicer still that you answered my call. Yes I as at the shop that day, but the actually shop- keeper met a rather unfortunate end that way. Terrible coincidence, actually..."

Tom didn't reply to that, asking a question of his own. "So, have you decided to actually explain what this is all about?"

"Your patience needs working on," The other answered. "Well, I do suppose you have a right to be frustrated," the blonde said with a nod. "However, that's no reason to be any less than level headed. In your annoyance you've even let your defenses down."

Tom merely frowned, refusing to look chastised or shamed. He had been patient for a week and he had lost any he had reserved at the smile on the other's face. Now he only wanted answers. Which, he knew, was exactly what the man in front of him was talking about. He needed to keep his calm to gain in advantage. So he forced himself to calm down, and before long he'd managed it to a point where he could see the dull, rust colored soul tipped in a vibrant gold of the man before him.

"Good." He gained a smile from the other- not that the man wasn't always smiling- for his trouble. "Well now, I've been terribly rude thus far haven't I? Not even an introduction. My name is Aldric Meade."

The color didn't waver and Tom raised an eyebrow. "You didn't lie? I'm surprised."

"I thought you might be able to tell," Aldric replied, "though I don't suppose you'll tell me how. Of course, I could have given any number of names and have spoken the truth."

It wasn't a lie, and Tom wondered if he'd been wrong in thinking that the soul never lied. He decided to look into it more later.

"Well, I haven't come to upset you so allow me to get to the point. I want you to be aware of what lies at the end of the path you're currently traveling on. What I wish to accomplish is changing the future."

Tom already knew this, of course. Aldric had said as much when they'd last met. What he really wanted to know was, "Why?"

Aldric's head tilted in something close to amusement. "Oh, and a better world for all wizarding kind isn't reason enough?"

"No. If that were the case, you wouldn't have showed me the prophecy. You wouldn't have told me that I had a chance of becoming the Dark Lord because you wouldn't know my goals right now- you wouldn't know whether that would please me or horrify me. You would probably be trying to befriend me and teach me the 'error of my ways' or whatever it is that those that seek heroism do. Besides, you've already told me you're being selfish, haven't you?"

Aldric snickered, replying, "You're most certainly the man who is to become Voldemort. You're both too perceptive for your own good. I was only expecting your last answer. I'm trying to change the course of events for myself, yes. I don't care if you destroy the world, so long as you're whole again- human, sane, whatever that entails."

Tom was going to ask more about it because he just couldn't understand it. _Why?If you don't care that the world ends up just as it was before then what's the point of changing one little detail?_As much as he wanted to ask, he knew that this Aldric person had said all he would on that. Tom calmed his racing thoughts and changed the subject. "The prophecy... why did you show it to me?"

"I'm not quite sure, other than that prophecy changed many things." His eyes stared off for a moment, into something Tom was sure he would not be able to see even if he turned to look. When he came back to himself Aldric blinked, not looking at Tom anymore. Tom had to wonder what they other tried to hide by looking away."Not that you weren't well on your way to madness before then. This part I'll explain myself, I suppose.

One of your followers gave you part of the prophecy. There were two people that the prophecy could have been talking about, but Dumbledore," Aldric winced at the name, "put them both under the protection of the Fidelius Charm. One of the Secret-Keepers, however, betrayed one family to Voldemort. And Voldemort went to kill the boy.

"He failed miserably though, because his killing curse bounced right off of the boy back to Voldemort. The boy became the Boy-Who-Lived, and you were thought dead until you managed to regain a body." He saw the look on Tom's face and added, "Your own was completely eradicated. The only things left as proof it happened at all are the boys dead parents and the cursed scar you gave to him."

"Am I really so stupid in the future?" Tom asked himself when the other finished. He'd always prided himself in his ability to see though the things put in front of him to the truth, and to him such actions were absurd. Insanity was not an excuse for stupidity in his opinion.

He had, after all, always felt the calls of those that truly were not there, always seen things no one else could, and he'd learned to adapt, to use his twisted mind to his advantage. But allowing it to get away with him, letting insanity control you- and that was simply the only thing that could have happened, he wouldn't do something so utterly demented if he were in his right mind- was simply not acceptable.

"To do all that, and without knowing the whole prophecy? No, even if you did, why set things in motion? Kill his parents, you give him a reason to hate you; try to kill him, you admit to fear- mark him as an equal... Even knowing about the prophecy, that seems the stupidest thing to do."

"I do hope you're beginning to see my point? The way you are in the future, you don't cling to a bit of common sense. Goals and aspirations have been set aside for some brat. The prophecy says one of you must die so..."

"No," Tom interrupted with the air of an intellect contemplating the Sphinx. "That's not true. That's just how Dumbledore interpreted the prophecy. I doubt it's as straight forward as that, though. There would have been no need for so many words if that was all it was about. And that interpretation doesn't encompass everything anyway. For instance, at the end where it talks about the other, it seems to me as if it's a completely different person from the other two mentioned before.

"And not just that either. There's also the difference between living and surviving. So while the other survives, neither can truly live? Who is the other, then? It could be Dumbledore, this other boy that could've been killed, or someone else. Really, there are much too many loopholes or instances where you can use this prophecy differently. It's really very vague."

Aldric raised an eyebrow, looking as if he'd just taken the moment to listen in. Tom bristled, but kept himself from snarling at the infuriating man. Barely. "And just how did you come up with that?"

"It's just a theory, but everything is not always as it seems. A prophecy tells the future to some extent, I'm sure, but not if no one knows of it. It's a person's knowledge of it that gives a prophecy power. Especially one interpreted incorrectly. If prophecies weren't like that, then we would call choices myth."

The other man looked rather surprised at this, as if he hadn't thought of such a thing himself. "These must be thoughts rewarded to you by living in a muggle environment. Wizards don't have thoughts like that, though, perhaps they should." Aldric replied, looking pleased with the man before him. Then he sighed, frowning slightly. "It's certainly an interesting thought, but its not one we should waste time discussing now. I need you to disguise yourself before we can begin."

Tom was slightly miffed at the dismissal, but he nodded anyway, putting a glamour on so that he looked just a bit younger, with hair that curled slightly, stopping just below his cheekbones. He made his jaw a little softer and widened his eyes. As an added touch he changed his skin so that it was paler, and changed the color of his eyes to red. The overall glamour made him seem much younger and more innocent- someone to underestimate.

"Good. Your robes should be fine for this trip, though I'd recommend muggle clothes after this."

"When are you going to explain everything to me?" Tom couldn't stop himself from asking. He hated, more than anything, to have things kept with him, especially things that had to do with him. He hated lies and he hated half-truths and he hated omissions. They all amounted to the same thing anyway.

"I'm sorry, but I need to be careful about things like this. I never know how what I say will change things. I will tell you as soon as I am able to."

Tom nodded, wondering if he could believe that. "Okay, I'm ready then," I replied, putting the time-turner around his neck.

"Good," Aldric said, and flicked his wrist toward the other boy so that the time-turner around his neck was set spinning.

Tom knew he wasn't in the same closet as before, but he might as well have been. Wherever he was, it was cramped, dark, cold and dank. This Aldric person seriously seems to enjoy forcing me into places like this, he grumbled to himself.

He was halfway on top of what must have been a cot from the lumpy fabric under him. And when his eyes finally adjusted to the lack of light- he wondered if there was a spell to speed up that transition- he realized that there was something next to him on the cot.

He managed to maintain his pride at this revelation in that he didn't let out an undignified squawk or fall off the makeshift bed, but despite that he felt embarrassed by his surprise.

The figure shivered and let out a mewling noise and for a moment Tom believed it to be a house-elf, but upon further inspection he found it was a little boy with messy black hair and the most ragged clothes he'd ever seen.

He cast a quick '_Lumos'_ and was horrified to discover just how bad a condition the clothes were in. _Merlin, you can't even classify those rags as clothes! House-elves receive better! _They were dirty and overly big and _Mordred, the holes in them!_

Tom sat stiffly on the edge of the little bed, watching the boy quietly. He wondered what, if anything, the boy had to do with whatever he was doing here. "I really need to stop letting people talk me into these things..." he mumbled quietly, recalling Dumbledore do the same thing. Of course, Dumbledore only wanted to take him to Hogwarts, Aldric had decided to take him _through time_.

It didn't take long for Tom to grow bored of waiting, though, so he decided to look around. The fact that he needed to spell the door open- _They lock him up?!-_ did nothing for his mood, but that was nothing compared to what he saw when he got out into the hall. Because he'd barely recognized that he was in a Muggle house before he saw where he'd just been sitting.

The boy was sleeping in a cupboard.

Tom couldn't form any thoughts past that. _A... a ruddy cupboard under the bloody stairs! Hidden away like – like some abomination they wanted to sweep under the rug!_ "Or under the stairs," he hissed to himself. His fingers twitched around his wand and it took much to keep himself from finding whoever it was that had locked the boy in there in the first place. What could possess someone to do something like that to...anyone really, but especially a little boy? What could the boy have done-

Tom lost his grip o the wand because suddenly he knew. Hadn't he gone through the same thing at the orphanage when he couldn't control his magic? Hadn't he been called freak and worthless, and disgusting? Hadn't they thought that if they ignored it and pretended it didn't exist long enough, that his magic would die out? And, when they realized it wouldn't work, hadn't they tried to beat it out of him? And hadn't they-

The wand clanged against the floor, sparks flying out of it from the interrupted spell. Tom did jump this time, and the noise seemed to be enough to startle the boy awake as well, because he let out a little shout as he sat up in the cot.

Reclaiming his wand, Tom cast another '_Lumos_' and peered into the cupboard. The boy wasn't completely awake yet, still stretching with his eyes clamped shut. The boy winced slightly when he stretched, and, scratching his head, the boy's eyes finally blinked open.

They were a bight green that Tom had only ever seen bursting from his wand the night his father and grandparents were killed. It was only a moment after this that he saw the bruise that framed one of those shocking eyes and his cheek.

He forced the emotion from his face lest the boy think his anger was directed at him. The boy jumped away from him, and hit into the wall in his haste to get some distance between them. Then they blinked at each other until the smaller boy grappled at the a shelf, grabbing glasses and shoving them onto his face.

Tom raised a curious eyebrow at that and again when the other blinked up at him with a awed look. Then the boy said, in an odd and awkward voice that made it obvious he wasn't used to speaking, "Aw you the God of Death?" Tom's eyes widened, but before h could reply the boy continued, "Aw you gonna take me away?"

"No," Tom replied, reverting to the guise of a prefect trying to help out an underclassman. "No, little one, I've only come to visit."

The boy nodded, biting his lip and trying not to let his disappointment show. "S'okay," he mumbled, then brightened suddenly. "No one's eva visited me befo!"

Tom grimaced, wondering at the boys ability to admit to such a thing so happily. "Well then, I'm glad to be the first." The boy's smile widened at that. "So tell me, little one, what's your name?"

"I'm Hawwy Potter!"

A chill went down Tom's spine.

* * *

_"Usually when people are sad, they don't do anything. They just cry over their condition. But when they get angry, they bring about a change."  
Malcolm X Speaks _

* * *

A/N: Well, I've had this finished for a while but I was too lazy to type it. Finally got around to it, though! Heh, I love the part where Tom is freaking out about Harry's clothes. XD The holes! I worried that people would think that this was out of character for him, but I think that after all his time ith his raggedy clothes at the orphanage, when he's finally able to wear decent things, he'll put a lot of importance of appearance, maybe not to the point of becoming vain, but to where he frowns when wrinkle dares to make itself known on his person. I also worried about how out of character his interactions were, especially with Black and Malfoy. He has a reason for allowing them into his room though, and as for their bedding arrangements- Tom grew up in a small orphanage during World War 2, I don't think sharing a bed would be that odd to him. I don' think he'd like it that much though, but he has a reason for it too, I'm thinking... or knowing, I suppose. 

Also, it'll be a while yet before we get to the actual 'present' setting so please bear with it? I don't know how many people actually like when a story is developed like, but I want to give you the information as Tom receives it. Heh, I should stop rambling, who knows what I'm giving away? If anything. So umm.. like I was trying to say, sorry for mistakes and  
thanks for reading!

And also... please review?


	3. Sometimes Too Tough to Swallow

**In Time**

**By:** Lanku Black

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**Summary: **Tom Riddle has always had a thirst for knowledge. It's that thirst- among other things- that leads him to Harry. And once that thirst is quenched, what will he do with knowledge gained? (TRHP)

* * *

Sometimes Too Tough to Swallow (Chapter Two)

_Aliquando et insanire iucundum est - It is sometimes pleasant even to act like a madman._  
-Seneca

Voldemort was pacing in the study. Though he'd looked up to see Aldric enter, he merely glared at the vampire for a moment before turning his attention back to his thoughts.

Aldric took the moment to sit in the chair behind the aging desk- Voldemort's chair- and observe him. He'd only been reborn recently and so his appearance still closely resembled that of a snake and he lacked a nose. Soon, though, it would change into a more human visage, more like the Tom he'd just been to visit.

He was only wearing drab, black robes that seemed at least two sizes too big on him and while he paced, his hands twiddled with his wand, though one hand would occasional reach up to rub his hairless head then travel down to the nape of his neck. Aldric already knew the pale man was morbidly skinny, but when he made gestures like that, it made that point even more obvious. Alaric occupied himself with staring at the almost elegantly protruding spine of the man he called master, watching how the bones under his skin slithered as he moved. "Well? ''The man asked impatiently, and he was suddenly struck by how much more strained and squalling Voldemort's voice was than Tom's smooth and even tones.

"I have no news. I simply came to visit, my dear Lord." He gave Voldemort a smile even as the other snarled angrily.

"Do not waste my time! If you've come to simply be a nuisance, get out of my sight _now_." The man tended his wand at Aldric, who who did not seem intimidated in the least.

"Well, if you want to know the truth, many believe you unfit to become the Dark Lord, who is looked upon with respect by all others. They fear-"

"I AM THE DARK LORD!" Aldric merely blinked at the words, as if he were surprised by this revelation. "Any that question me will find themselves at the end of my wand! If they defy me I will kill them!''

"The Night court-"

"Do not bother me with fairy tales! Get out!"

"I apologize for upsetting you, Dear Lord, I did not seek to offend you." With a bow, but not another word, Alric made his way toward the door. The thought, unbidden came that while Voldemort's eyes froze through when he was angry- reminding one of the death that came with his anger-, Tom's smoldered. And though he was more familiar with the look on Voldemort's face it was Tom's that was imprinted best in his mind. Tom's that he was sure would invoke a better performance of his Death Eaters.

"And Meade," Voldemort called out, prompting the other to turn slightly to catch sight of the others wand pointed at him."_Crucio._"

Aldric's last coherent thought before the pain drowned everything else out was that Tom and Voldemort were nothing alike. And that thought, more than any threat or amount of pain, scared Aldric.

Tom sat, mystified, as the little boy rattled off things they could do. It was an odd list, comprised for the most part of playing with random items in the cupboard- Harry was quite the enthusiastic spider watcher, apparently- and assuring Tom that the boy definitely lived in the space and not undergoing some strange form of punishment.

Tom cut him off when the boy's fumbling words began repeat themselves. "Why don't we just talk?" he suggested. The answering smile was almost blinding in its brilliance. Tom struggled for a moment to find something to say and finally grasped at a question. "Where are your parents?"

"They... th-" Tom could already see what the answer was, and was glad to see that the loss of words was not because of any terrible sorrow, but because the boy simply couldn't form the word he was grasping at. "Dead," the boy finally answered, giving up on saying what he'd been trying to.

"Is that so?" Tom hummed curiously, unable to apologize for this. It wasn't as if he'd killed the boys parents, after all. "Mine are as well. We're both orphans. Then who are you living with right now?"

"Aunt Petunia an' my uncle an' my cousin Dudley. They awen't... he... home now though."

"Oh?" Tom asked, a glance outside the room telling him that it was very early in the morning. "And when will they be back?"

"Monday," Harry answered, and at the expression he received- Tom had cast a silent_ 'Tempus'_ to see that it was Saturday- was quick to add, "Aun' Petunia didn't mean ta' keep me locked up. They was in a wush and twaffic's cwazy on Fie- Fwi-!"

"I believe you." Tom cut in, unsure which was worse- the events or the boy trying to say them. Hadn't he been taught proper English? The lack of articulation clawed at his nerves. "Harry, how old are you?"

"I'm fouw! Dudley's always callin' me a baby though, even though I'm not!"

Tom raised an eyebrow to that. He was sure he'd been able to speak correctly _far_ earlier than that. Of course, that could have just been another on the long list of 'unnatural' things about him. Of course, that didn't stop Tom from saying, "Perhaps if you spoke correctly, he'd have less to tease you about."

Harry scrunched up his face and for a moment, Tom thought he'd made the boy cry, but the boy snapped them open and looked at him questioningly. "How? I dunno how to say it but no one tells me how. Auntie neva' speaks to me and Dudley only laughs when I twy to speak..."

"I'll tell you what," Tom sighed, standing back up and leaving the cupboard, heading to the kitchen. "Why don't I make us breakfast and then I can help you with it."

"But-..." Tom was sure that the boy was going to say something about not being allowed to eat or some other such nonsense, but he stopped himself, bouncing into the kitchen after Tom.

Tom let Harry help him cook as they continued their conversation. For someone who spent most of his life in a cupboard, he had much to talk about, but he made sure to ask Tom questions too. They finished the food- eggs, bacon and pancakes- and set the table. Harry beamed when Tom thanked him for his help before they sat down to eat.

And so Tom began helping his speech along. When Harry said anything incorrectly, Tom would repeat the whole thing, integrating his corrections into their conversation. When Harry wasn't feeling rushed or nervous, he was able to speak quite lucidly, Tom was glad to see.

"Why did you ask me if I was the God of Death when you first saw me Harry?" Tom asked. He'd almost forgotten about it, but something Harry said tugged the thought back. They had finished eating a while ago, now just sitting and speaking idly.

"Oh. I saw it in a movie Dudley let me watch. Thewre... _there_ was a man with red eyes too, and he took people away when they was... we'e sad. Dudley said he would come and take me to my parents, so I was waitin'. I guess he couldn't come though."

"He took them away when they were sad?" Tom's face, carefully devoid of expression, did not convey how much this disturbed him. "Harry, do you know what dead means?"

"Uh huh!" Harry said proudly. "My mum and dad awe- are- faw away and don't know how to get back. So I wanted the God of Death to take me to them. That way, I can show them how ta' get home again."

Tom swallowed uncomfortably, shifting in his seat and clearing his throat. He thought he might have started sweating, but surely _he_ wasn't going to have to explain to a child that his parents were somewhere that he couldn't get to? That no one could get to.

Instead of saying anything to Harry, however, Tom got up and washed the dishes by hand, taking up time and hoping that Aldric would spirit him away soon. He'd washed the dishes three times and finally put them away before he decided that Aldric wasn't going to get him away from this. He turned back to Harry to see the boy watching him with a shrewd expression on his face.

"You know where my mummy and daddy awe, don't you?"

Tom sighed, tossing aside the dish towel he'd been fiddling with before walking out of the kitchen, beckoning Harry to follow. Death talks were not something he could fake his way through. "I'm not a doctor, Harry, so don't expect me to be able to tell you this gently," he said as he walked, sitting on a couch. Harry settled in next to him, much too close for Tom's comfort. _Merlin's third testicle!,_ his mind screamed, _What if he cries?_

"When your parents died... they went somewhere, yes, but it wasn't anywhere here- on Earth, I mean. It's not somewhere you can go, or that they can come back from. The God of Death doesn't just take away the sad people, he only takes you when he has no choice, when your body doesn't work anymore. It's not something that you decide, but you're parents aren't coming-"

Tom's words were cut off by Harry launching himself into his lap and burrowing his face into Tom's voluminous robes. If Tom felt awkward before, it was nothing compared to how he felt then. He couldn't tell if the boy was crying, but his shoulder's were shaking so Tom assumed he was. He tentatively placed a hand on the other's back as he'd seen his classmates do when news of more war victims came out, and moved it softly in calming circles.

They stayed like that for a long while.

_The sound of the door opening woke Tom up from sleep. The sound was not obtrusively loud, but Tom had always been a light sleeper. He sat up in the small bed that he hadn't, for once, had to share and looked toward the door._

_It was the new caretaker, the one Ms. Cole had had to hire on short notice because Ms. McDuly had and unfortunate encounter with a pair of hedging trimmers and needed medical attention. Tom hoped the mean woman stayed away for a long time. She was always convincing Ms. Cole he was a terror and stopping the woman's attempts to be nice to him._

_This new one, though, Tom thought was rather creepy. Of course, he was the only man to ever work at the orphanage since Tom had lived in it, so Tom thought he might have been rather biased. Either way, Tom made an effort to stay as far away from Mr. Muculent Kerr._

_The man smiled at Tom, putting a finger to his lips as if Tom had made a noise. Tom thought this was rather stupid of the man, as it was him himself being so noisy. He walked over to the bed and sat at the edge close to Tom's hip._

_"'Ello there, Tom. I've heard a lot about you from Ms. McDuly. A bit of a trouble-maker, are you? S'alright, I was like that too when I was a lad. You're just a bit lonely, are you? Don't worry, I'll keep you company t'night..." _

Tom pushed himself into wakefulness forcefully, sitting up so quickly that he almost pushed Harry onto the ground. Harry let out a squeaking noise as he jumped up after Tom, though much less alert than the other boy. "Wha-?" he mumbled through a yawn, opening his eyes to see Tom blinking down at him.

He smiled, and Tom saw that he had indeed been crying before they... fell asleep? Tom took out his wand, giving Harry a minute smile, and whispered, '_Tempus._' It was well into the evening, or so claimed the gold lettering in the air.

"Hungry, Harry?" Tom asked, scratching at his head in a rare show of annoyance. Harry, however, looked rather preoccupied with staring in the air here the time charm had just faded away. "Never seen magic before, have you?" The thought had only just occurred to him. He was in a muggle environment, after all.

"Magic? It's weal? Uncle and Auntie say it isn't. They say only bad people think magic is weal."

"Yes, well, I'm not a bad person, am I?" Harry shook his head. "And I know that magic is real. So your aunt and uncle are wrong."

Harry seemed to have trouble believing that, so Tom pointed his wand in the direction of the kitchen, and magicked a couple of sandwiches to make themselves and levitate into the room to them.

Harry was absolutely amazed by this, it seemed. He clapped his hands and giggled at the show, and for the rest of the night, he kept asking Tom to do the most bizarre feats of magic ("Oh, make the telly dance!, Give everyone in the picture wed hair!, make the bath water into soda pop!").

When Tom finally got the little boy to bed- they squeezed themselves back into the cupboard and Tom locked the door- he was more tired than Harry was. "Do something amazing!" Harry begged, and Tom couldn't help but smile because he was reminded of his first encounter with a real wizard- he remembered asking Dumbledore to do the same thing, though it was more because he was suspicious and less out of his awe of magic. That had come later.

It was then that Tom felt the pull of the time-turner; he was returning to his time.

"Tell you what," Tom replied, "You make sure you're speaking correctly by your next birthday, and I'll get you something magic. Deal?"

Harry thought on this for a moment, and finally nodded seriously. "Okay. But don't forget." Tom nodded just as seriously.

"I won't," Tom promised.

It was staring at a worn out looking Aldric that Tom realized he had no idea when the boy's birthday was. He decided he'd ask the man in front of him, but the first thing out of his mouth was, "What happened to you?"

"Sorry, I was a little late. I was busy with something else."

"Like being under the Cruciatus Curse?" Tom asked with no inflection in his voice. "Was it me?"

"No," Aldric said with a sigh. "It wasn't you, it was Voldemort."

"You keep making that distinction, but I can't have changed that much if you're still being put under it."

"I want to give you something," Aldric said with a smile, ignoring the words. He pulled a book out of his robes and from the cover, Tom could tell it was for younger children.

He took it in his hands and read the title. "Fairy tales for Wizarding Folk, Arthurian Age?"

"Most particularly, the story about Morgana and Merlin. It's important that you understand that one."

Tom nodded, finally sitting down. "Since you seem so keen on changing the subject, I'd like to ask what this trip was about. And also, I'm supposed to go back there on Harry's birthday."

The smile widened. "His birthday, is it? Did he tell you that his birthday was July thirty-first?"

"The last day of the seventh month?" Tom paled. He'd spared the thought, but to hear that he was the one that forced Harry into that little hovel was disturbing. Suddenly he felt the need to bathe, as if he was caked with grime, and bugs were crawling all over him.

He couldn't fathom what had gone wrong in the years between them. What, he wondered, had happened to leading a revolution to bettering the Wizarding community? To equal rights an humane treatment of others? What happened to making regulations to preventing poor treatment of wizards at the hands of muggles and making sure that orphaned wizards were brought into the wizarding world and taken care of? Most of all, though, Tom wondered how he'd gone from wanting to prevent people from having to go through what he did to _causing_ it.

"Even if I want to change it," Tom said, ignoring the growing smile on Aldric's face, "It's already happened. I can't change that."

And he ran out of the room, away from all of it.

Tom ran all the way to the library, cursing himself for running away when he would eventually, inevitably go back to Aldric. He toyed with the book in his hand, but didn't open it- his thoughts were too jumbled and uneasy to concentrate.

He was frustrated at himself. How could he, who was capable of understanding even the most complex of magics, not understand himself? The thought crossed his mind that maybe it was a spell that had altered his mind so much that he could no longer comprehend what he was doing or the consequences. But no, why would Voldemort put his mind in such danger? His mid was, second only to his magic, the most important thing about himself. He wouldn't trade it away.

Maybe it was his madness? But that was only whispers and hallucinations, nothing that could change him so monumentally. The madness didn't tell him to kill or hurt, and it wasn't tangible enough to sink into. He could overcome it easily. His reason had always won out.

Maybe... "Riddle!"

Tom blinked up at Minerva McGonagall, surprised to see her again. She was blushing and looking uncomfortable, with eyes downcast and to the side.

"Yes," he asked, wondering what time it was if she was out of class. He was under the impression that she was one of the rare students that didn't have even one free period. Even Tom himself had one, though that was because he preferred to teach himself.

"You missed Transfiguration. Professor Dumbledore wants you to report to his room tonight for your detention. You should go to dinner now if you want anything to eat before you have to go."

It was dinnertime, then. Tom nodded absently, wondering how many classes Dumbledore had to tell before the message reached back to him. It as a couple of minutes before Tom got up, almost crashing into the Gryffindor as he did.

"Oh you're still here?" He asked, walking around her and out the door. She followed after him and he raised a brow. "Did Dumbledore ask you to make sure I actually went to detention or something?"

"N- no, nothing like that. I was... I was just wondering what Professor Dumbledore so dislikes about you. I mean, you're a Slytherin, sure, but he seems to be particularly suspicious of you. It's odd. You're a good student and you're certainly going to be Head boy next year and you're great at Quidditch, and... well, I mean, you're much more studious than anyone I know. Dumbledore is always so much harsher on you than anyone else, though."

Tom wondered if the girl realized that she'd just insulted his house, but said nothing else until they reached the doors to the Great Hall. "Maybe," he told he, "Dumbledore sees in me a great potential for evil. If that is the case, however, it seems that Dumbledore is doing a rather good job in trying to lead me down that path with all his suspicious behavior to begin with. After all, if he can't see past that potential to me and all those other qualities you see, what reason do I have to look away from that potential?"

With that little speech, he did something he as becoming increasingly good at; he walked away, leaving a wide-eyed Gryffindor behind.

"Where have you been, then?" Abraxas asked as he slid into his seat next to him.

"Is that Minerva McGonagall that just walked in? You weren't with _her_ were you?" Tom raised an eyebrow at Melinda Bulstrode, wondering what it had to do with her.

"Stay to your own conversations, Lin, or I'll have to find a new place to store my books. Your nose seems rather large enough," came from Eileen Prince, who was rather pointedly staring at the other's nose.

Melinda gave her a viscous look before turning away, mumbling something unsavory under her breath.

Tom nodded his thanks to her, sighing as his thoughts muddled together again. Could it have really been Dumbledore? He was sure that that was probably part of it, certainly. Maybe there were just too many factors weighing down on him to think of and his mind simply couldn't take it anymore?

The other Slytherins saw that he was in a sulky mood, and kindly kept him out of conversation. It stayed like that all through dinner when he saw Dumbledore motion to him to go serve his detention. Tom sighed, giving word to his fellows- though Black was conspicuously absent from the table, he noticed- before following the older man to his office.

"Is there some reason that you missed out on my lesson?" The other asked him, after Tom warded off offers of tea and lemon drops.

"I'm afraid I fell asleep, Professor," Tom replied evenly. It was the truth, after all. He had fallen asleep while he was missing the lesson. Of course, it wasn't just that, but he certainly wasn't going to mention to Dumbledore anything more incriminating.

"I see," Dumbledore replied, eyes twinkling even as his lips pursed. "I want you to write 'I will not miss any class without permission first' one hundred times, and then you may go."

Tom nodded respectfully, though he barely had an ounce of it for the wizard in front of him. _Yes,_ he thought, _I can definitely see where Dumbledore could have helped me down such a road._

"Remember, Aldric, I am your Lord. You belong to me. I can do _anything_ I want to you."

"Yes, my Lord," the other whispered, voice lacking the strength it usually held.

"You are mine."

"Yes, Lord."

"I am the Dark Lord!"

"Of course, my Lord."

"Good." And then there was that look again. A look that no one should be able to give a vampire. A look that dominated, crushed, and conquered. A look that Aldric knew he would never, ever see in Tom's face. "Come; I'll keep you company tonight."

"Yes, Lord. Thank you Lord."

* * *

_The lust for power is not rooted in strength, but in weakness. -__Erich Fromm_

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A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I'm sorry I couldn't get this out the day after my last one, lol, but I had to type it up first! I'm not a slow typer, but I'm easily distracted unfortunately. I hope this chapter doesn't seem flat? Some of it was a bit of filler to make the chapter longer, but I think some of it turned out to be pretty important anyway. And I never claimed originality, though I hope it is if even just a little bit. On another note, it seems I'm terrible at giving hints! I thought it was obvious that Harry's speech was definitely too young for his actual age and that he didn't understand what he was talking about, though I purposely didn't give it until I could explain it properly. Apparently someone thought I was too misguided to realize what I'd done however, so let me explain. 

Harry has undergone severe neglect in his years with the Dursleys. People learn to talk by watching and listening to other people speak, and also by interacting with others. Harry, however, has only really had the chance to listen to whatever little tidbits he can hear from his cupboard, which he won't be released from often because he's still a little too young to be useful around the house so why would Petunia let him out? So his speech has developed along the same lines as someone with a hearing disorder.

I chose to give Harry the speech problem in these early chapters so you couldn't ignore his abuse just because he smiled a lot. I wanted people to see Harry and say 'What the heck did they do to this boy so that he never even learned to speak correctly?' but it seems I didn't get that across. I have a speech disorder, personally, so I know the babying effect it has, but normally you can't even tell I have one- unless there are a lot of S's involved. Harry's curse is the R.

And also, Harry didn't understand what he was talking about. The whole reason I used such a mouthful as 'God of Death' was to show he was just harping something off that he'd picked up. I also thought that the awe in Harry's face was also a tip off, but I guess not. If Harry knew what he was talking about, I think Harry would be rather not happy with the person that took his parents away from him. I hope this clears it up?

Eek, it's a long A/N isn't it? Sorry, I'm not usually of the monster A/Ns, I don't think. XD


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